


Monstrous

by orphan_account



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood and Violence, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Panic Attacks, References to Depression, The Author Regrets Nothing, future tags will be added!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:08:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29205621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: As hard as you try, you can't change something that has already happened. No matter what you do its beyond your power, preprogrammed.You can't change someones behavior, when they make their own opinions on you(or gossip, when they start rumors)You can't change the past (years and years of helplessness, you couldn't do a thing)You can't change the world (you've already tried, you've tried so hard, your tired)There's something's you can't change. You can't change things that are already done. You can't change someone's death, you can't change someone's heart, and you can't fix a monster.No matter how many times you've tried.





	Monstrous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You hear snippets of their gossip, which in it's self is barely a standing point, but still you hear it if only pieces. They say her hair is black like rot, and her pale skin is more dead than alive, and her eyes are purple like death.
> 
> They were all liars, every single one.
> 
> Death wasn't purple like wolfsbane and lavender.  
> Death was a deep crimson like glowing eyes and iron, and blood.  
> Death was Red.

You can hear them sometimes. Whenever you're in the village, you can feel their eyes, and hear the whispers. Rei acts like they're not there, chatting animatedly, but last time when Rei’s mother had sent the both of you to the village to buy some clothes for the start of school, she walks a bit too close to someone's cart, and the reaction, (widening, scared, nasty eyes as they stumbled back, the cart almost knocking over and would've had it not been for your arm snapping out and catching it by one of the rafters, fixing the man's clumsy mistake) the recoil is too harsh to not notice.

The loudness of the market had gone silent, as if all were in awe, waiting to see what would happen. Rei’s smile twists into something, the smile a bit too bright, a bit too forced, and when she grabs your hand, she squeezes it hard.  
And then the market starts up again as if nothing happened. As if the actions weren't isolating and disgusting, a town neglecting a child, petty bullying, disgusting, filthy, and so, so useless.

You hear snippets of their gossip, which in it's self is barely a standing point, but still you hear it if only pieces.  
They call her a daughter of death, (not saying it directly but it's so obvious that they don't need to). It's whispered, from adults to children.

(mere children twirling from side to side, and singing, laughing, the apples of their cheeks glowing pink. they were singing a rhyme that you had not heard of, of a witches girl of evil who has eyes of wolfsbane and hair like plague and skin of the dead. They don't see the two of you, the clearing that they were playing in, secluded and closed off. They're just children, younger than the both of you, it should be fine. And yet... When you glance at the girl next to you, you can see Rei’s smile and how it looks so calm and happy and oblivious and hysterical. You can see the shine of tears in her eyes and she chatters on subtly leading the both of you from the clearing in that helpful, selfless, hero-complex way of hers;  
and you feel such an overwhelming surge of bloodlust for those kids who simply didn't know, just repeated what adults said, and are children but she, you are a child too. It's such a wanting, vying killing intent that you have to grit your teeth until you taste iron, and squeeze Rei’s hand until your knuckles pale to keep them from curling into claws. You're scared of what you might do if you let go.)

It's almost like folklore, like some sort of wrung out truth.  
Murmurs talking about her hair is black like rot, and her pale skin is more dead than alive, and her eyes are purple like death.

They were all liars, every single one.

It's foolish, all of it. they were just a bunch of ignorant people, civilians, villagers who haven't a faintest idea what death is, who’ve never seen death up close and personal, has never looked death in the face and had the bravery, the courage to snarl. Purple wasn't death, purple was warm smiles, and bell-like laughter, and picking wildflowers on a spring afternoon.  
Death wasn't purple like wolfsbane and lavender.

Death was red like blood, all deep and heady scent, iron and copper, drowning out everything else.  
(hands scrabbling and wide fearful eyes, pleading with her. It was all useless in the end.)

Death was gashings on stomachs (or chests, or throats) and hearing the pleading of someone knowing that they couldn't, couldn't do much, couldn't do anything at all.

(“I'm sorry” you repeated, your voice in the same perfect calmness, same programmed indifference, the begging, crying was getting shriller by the second, you probably should do something .“I’m sorry” you said again, reaching for them)

Death was utter despair, the desperation of fighting for your life.

(they were screaming at you now, please, and begging mixed in with insults and sobs, crackling sobs that shook you, rocked you. Kicks and yells as you squeezed their throat, a sickening crunch that should bother you, but doesn't)

Death was glazed eyes, not warmth blooming from your chest.  
Death had detached sentiments and glowing eyes and blond hair, radiating with so much bad it was impossible that people could miss it.

(oh it was so much, red, red, red, foam and bubbles his throat gurgling as he tried to speak. Hands, your hands, your cold hands wrapping around wet, wet, warm red and squeezing, jerking, and then with a SNAP!)

Death was never black hair or purple eyes. Death was always deep crimson, was always you, you, you.  
(with snap they, it, were no more).

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter one after much waiting, and writing. Woohoo! I hope you enjoy the ride and leave kudos!


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